The Watch

Here is my favorite story from Helen's Cafe.  It will quickly become clear why I love it so much.

One day Mema was waiting on a customer in the Cafe.  It was someone she had never seen before.  She went  over to help him and he reached out to her and said "May I see your watch?"  Weird request, but of course she showed him her watch.  The man looked at her and began to tell her how the Lord had given him a vision of that watch and that He had given him a message for the woman wearing it.  He said, "Your daughter desperately wants to have a child.  She will have a baby of her own."  The man said that he was a missionary and had been out of the country on a mission.  When he returned home, his wife had left and taken his children.  He was on his way to California to find them.  He promised to pray all the way there for Mema's daughter to have a baby, and asked Mema to pray that he would find his children as well.

Ok, this story sounds outrageous, but it is true!  I retold this story to some people after Mema's funeral and a family member nearby was listening saying, "Yep, that's how it happened!  I was there!"  You see, my parents had been trying for years to have a baby.  That very weekend, they were in Oklahoma City to begin the process of adopting a child.  But this man said that my mother would have a baby of her own, and by the time he would have made it to California, my mother found out she was pregnant with me.   

I often wonder about that man.  Mom and Mema told me his name, but I can never remember it.  I wonder if he ever found his children.  I have heard this story all my life.  It took me a long time to even question where babies come from--they come from prayer, silly!!  Really, they do come from the Heart of God!  The Psalmist said it so well:  

"For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.  

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; 

your works are wonderful, I know that full well." (Psalm 139: 13-14)

Helen's Cafe

One of the first things people notice when they visit our church is that we eat--A LOT!  Every month for as long as I can remember we have a singing on the second Saturday of the month.  We eat afterwards.  Every Sunday morning after service, we eat.  Mema loved to cook for the people she loved, and was a firm believer in comfort food.  And when she cooked, she cooked for an army.  Maybe this is the reason why:

Back in the day, Mema worked as a waitress.  Then she opened a restaurant of her own.  The restaurant was located in a few different locations around downtown Tulsa.  These pictures are from 1123 S. Main where Helen's Cafe was located from 1964-1977.  

No matter where it was located, there were a few things customers could count on.  First of all, they would be treated like family.  Second, they were guaranteed to have a fabulous home-cooked meal.  Many people came to the restaurant for more than what was offered on the menu.  They wanted someone to listen, someone to pray for their needs.  The restaurant was more than a business, it was a ministry.  Maybe that is why it never made her rich--I am sure she gave away many plates of food.  No one was allowed to go hungry when Mema was around. 

I wish I could remember the restaurant, but I was only four years old when it closed.  Traces of that place are still very evident in my life.  (Stay tuned...the best story is yet to come!)  Most of us still have our own favorite recipe left over from Helen's Cafe, mine is homemade chicken and noodles.  Fortunately, Papa still knows how to make them. :)

But more than the food, the tradition remains.  If anyone comes to our church hungry, they will be fed.  There have been several people who tried to talk her out of having Sunday dinners at the church.  After all, it is a lot of work every week.  She wouldn't hear of it! In the months before she died, we had a group of neighborhood kids who were coming on their own to church. One in particular would eat three big plates of food every time.  Mema was convinced that little boy didn't get enough to eat during the week.  She had to make sure he had a good meal on Sunday.  Now that little boy was ornery!  He tore stuff up, made a mess, talked back to the adults--but he was learning.  He started cleaning up after himself (sometimes), and if he was disrespectful to someone, he would usually come back the following week and apologize.  Sometimes he would even snag some flowers from the neighbor's yard on the way to church to give to the offended lady.  We don't see him much anymore.  His house burned and we don't know exactly where he is living now.  The last day he came to church was the day after she died.  He cried.  I wish he would come back.  We would feed him.